The Walk
by Fireglass
Summary: But she’s a Muggle-born, and he’s a pure-blood, and they don’t talk about those things; she doesn’t say that she’s misunderstood, and he doesn’t say that it’s so wrong for him to understand her. /Sirius&Lily\/Drabble-Shot\


* * *

_The Walk_

* * *

—When you feel that everything going wrong and there's nothing left to live for, I'll be there to pick you up again; we'll walk the road together.—

* * *

Sometimes he walks with her.

Never far and never fast, for they really have nowhere to go. Usually it's chance that brings them together; chance and a bit of luck, as The Map would have it…but he's not complaining. He doesn't mind being around her, because she truly astounds him, in ways even he cannot begin to describe. Maybe it's because she's so different from all of the other girls; she's not loud and she's not pushy, she's not overbearingly eager in her classes, but she's bright. And she's brilliant, and she has a smile that light up the darkest of dark days. And sometimes he fancies she likes to be with him, too…that maybe she knows that he's a prat, and an idiot, but that deep down he's really not those things, that he's just hiding from something.

But she's a Muggle-born, and he's a pure-blood, and they don't talk about those things; she doesn't say that she's misunderstood, and he doesn't say that it's so wrong for him to understand her.

Instead they walk.

He doesn't know when these walks became ritual for them; sometime in their second year, maybe. Or maybe not. It just seems that their paths cross frequently, and always have—cross, but never intertwine, because he's seen the way his best friend looks at her and he knows not to interfere. But then he can't deny to himself that he is captivated by her; the pale hue of her skin, the rosy patches dotting her cheeks on cold days, the way her green eyes sparkle when she talks about Potions, her best subject, or complains about Charms, her worst.

He doesn't speak very often when they walk…not at first. He's content to just listen to her, and to watch her walking, her books gripped tightly to her chest, her face relaxed in a wide grin as she speaks so plainly to him, like a dam has opened and everything she keeps sealed behind her full, pink lips is rushing forth. And he feels honored that she discloses so much to him…honored, because he's never seen her talk to another boy like this before, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he stands a chance.

Sometimes, though, he does talk to her, and for once in his life he's a serious as his namesake. He tells her about the fights at home, escalating summer by summer. He tells her how scared he is for his younger brother, how hurt he is by the way his mother slanders him…but he never, ever tells her what they call her when they speak of her, because he knows that protecting her from that kind of pain is the most important thing, and he can never, ever fail at that. Never.

They walk most often in the winter; he sometimes fancies that she waits for him, in the shadowed arches and the empty corridors, though when he asks her she denies it. They spend a good deal of time on the grounds. He tries to explain Quidditch to her, unsuccessfully, and she attempts to render the more complicated aspects of Wolfsbane to him…also unsuccessfully. But he secretly tucks away the knowledge she gives and the sound of her voice, so that he can hear her speak again when he's alone at night.

They walk so often through the snow, leaving a trail of footsteps behind them.

* * *

It's their seventh year now, and they don't walk as often.

Sometimes he sees her from a distance, and she's almost always with his best mate, and he feels this terrible, terrible pain in his heart that's almost jealousy but isn't, because he loves his friends with a fire of loyalty that is all-consuming and he wants them to be happy.

So he laughs and he smiles and he plays along in his denial, and he pretends that with each brush of their hands, each secretive look that passes between his two closest friends, he's not dying on the inside. He avoids her when he can, because sometimes she stares at him and she looks sympathetic, and he can't bear to be pitied.

He pretends he doesn't care when he walks in on them in an empty classroom; he pretends that he doesn't wish he was in his best friend's place, and he pretends that his world is utterly whole.

But sometimes she gives him this look, when they're in a crowded classroom or the Great Hall, with a thousand other people around them, and suddenly it's only him, and it's only her, and like she can see right through him, just like she used to.

But she doesn't speak to him any more. She shares her secrets with others. She's changing—growing more extroverted and getting more skilled at Charms, and he's growing up too and realizing that his family is even more be-damned then he used to think, only now he doesn't have her to talk to about it.

The winter comes and goes, and he walks alone.

* * *

He's not surprised when she tells him she's going to get married.

He's sitting at the edge of the lake that laps at the back of his family's summer home. They've long since abandoned it, preferring to remain at Grimmauld Place, locked in the studies full of Dark Arts books, but he likes the outdoors. He like the clear water and the open air and the freedom, and sometimes he brings his friends here with him.

It's twilight now, and he knows she's coming because he can hear her soft, even breathing and he can smell her, and when she sits beside him—dressed in a Muggle gown that is a stunning pale blue and looks so right on her—he shifts aside so their arms don't touch. His feet trail in the water and his head is thrown back; he's not touching her, he's not looking at her, and the space between them yawns wider than ever.

" I'm getting married." She states, apropos of nothing, as they gaze out over the water, toward the darkening horizon.

He nods without looking at her.

" To James."

Nod.

" He wants you to be his best man."

" Can't he tell me that himself?"

She kicks off her sandals and dips her feet into the chilly water, shivering, and he feels bad for snapping at her.

" Sorry."

" Forget it."

A pause spans between them. They shift their feet restlessly through the water, creating ripples that fan out and away, and neither of them speaks. He can't help thinking that this isn't how it should be. But then he remembers that things have changed; he's not her friend, he's going to be nothing more to her than her husband's best mate, because they're not innocent school-children and he's not good enough for her and they're not meant to be.

" Why did _you_ tell me?" He asks of her.

She knows to what he is referring.

" Because James wouldn't think about your feelings."

" I don't care if you get married. It's great. I'm happy for you…for you both."

She gives him that look that says she knows he's not being entirely truthful.

" You're terrible liar, Sirius Black. I know you care."

He doesn't reply.

" Remember when we used to go for walks?" She presses him to talk, but he doesn't want to, because talking to her hurts too much.

" Yeah."

" We don't do that anymore."

" Well, you're getting married, Lily, aren't you? We can't be friends like that anymore."

" Can't? Or won't?"

He ignores her.

She gets to her feet without a word, and walks away. And he knows he's done the right thing by putting that distance between them, but he wonders, if it's right thing, why it feels so terribly wrong.

Tonight, it is her who walks alone.

* * *

He finds it very hard to concentrate on the wedding day.

He's standing near the altar, and he's talking to the others like he's not worried about anything, but there's this feeling in his stomach like he's about to jump from a very high height. Because he hasn't spoken a word to her in six months and he hasn't looked her in the eye for nearly that and because, deep down, he wishes she was going to marry him instead of his best friend. And he doesn't want to think that way.

But his joy in the moment is overshadowed by the knowledge that he can't tell her that after this he won't be able to come back; that the remnants of his family have disowned him for attending a Muggle-born's wedding, that after tonight he'll be left alone and in the shadows because James will have her and she will have James, and nothing else will matter anymore.

There are a hundred women in the room, some that were invited to the proceedings and some that weren't, and many of them are watching him keenly as he broods, but as the music starts and the doors at the far end of the cathedral open, his eyes are only for her. And he can't believe how beautiful she looks…like something he had only ever dreamed of.

But she's not looking at him; she only sees James. And all during the vows she doesn't look away from her betrothed, doesn't spare a passing glance to the friend that's slowly fading away into the background behind them all, destitute and abandoned.

Then the preacher says the words, and suddenly they're kissing, and it's like being in that classroom all over again; and then he turns and looks away, but as he does James spins her around, and her eyes meet his, and she's smiling so brightly that she's suddenly become that innocent little girl again, lost in a magical world of snow, her footsteps marked beside his, her deepest fears disclosed to his most secret heart, and then, unbelievably, when James picks her up and carries her down the isle, he's laughing with her.

And he sees that, maybe, things don't have to end this way.

And that day he speaks to her for the first time in so long, and they laugh together, and then he leads her to the floor and they dance. And he's content to hold her for the first and final time, and her arms are around his neck, brushing against his hair, and he fancies that she's enjoying this as much as he is.

She kisses him on the cheek before she goes back to her new husband, and the fissures in his heart tear and ache, but he doesn't let on, because being with her again is so wonderful it's nearly heaven.

He walks off of the dance floor with a smile on his face.

* * *

It is she who comes to him with the proposal.

He's sitting in the drawing room of her home, listening to her and James tending to little Harry, and he's trying not to think about how much he still wishes it was him in that kitchen, that it was his family instead of James'. And he feels so cruel and sick and evil because he knows James would never think that way about him.

He's twirling an empty butterbeer bottle between his hands and staring at the ornate rug beneath his feet when she comes in and perches herself on the edge of his chair. He ignores her until he can't anymore, until the tiny coughing noises she's making grab his attention, and he sighs without looking around at her.

" What is it, Lily?"

" James and I have been talking." She begins, sounding hesitant and very much like her timid self of old. She rests her hand on his shoulder as she continues, " We're worried about Voldemort. Dumbledore says that someone…someone told him that he might come after our family. And there are things Voldemort doesn't know about…things about Harry that are…special."

Despite his grudging feelings of deep misery whenever he's with their family for too long, he must agree with her; sometimes, when he's looking at Harry or when they're alone together, when he's entertaining his godson and making him laugh in a way that's so reminiscent of his father…he feels a little uneasy, a little on edge, like there's a storm brewing between him and Harry that's just not ready to make itself heard yet.

He grunts noncommittally as Lily falls silent, and then she concludes softly, almost hopefully, " James and I want you to be our Secret-Keeper."

He's not at all certain what to feel when she says this; something draws him to his feet, away from her, and then he's pacing, pacing, his mind whirling and his heart pounding, because he suddenly knows that they're all in real danger and that she wants him to hold their lives in his hands…  
" I can't. Lily, I can't…" His voice is desperate. " I'll screw up, I'll get you all killed…you, and James, and little Harry…"

" We don't want anyone else." Lily explains firmly. " We don't trust anyone else." She's on her feet now, and she's following him as he paces in laps around the room, and it's like some twisted echo of the days when they used to walk together.

He pauses before the large picture-window, its face rain-splattered, and he turns to face her with anguish in his eyes…because she's so beautiful, and so innocent, and so scared, and he wants to be the hero she needs.

" What if I can't keep your secrets?" He whispers, and she looks away, as though his words have stabbed her deeply. " What if I let you die?"

And then she's doing something unexpected and wonderful; she's touching him, her hands on his face, and her sparkling eyes are just before him, and she looks so stern and forbidding and yet so unbelievably real and warm…

" You won't."

" What if I don't have a choice?"

" There's always a choice.

" But _you _couldn't choose. You didn't choose _me_."

And he feels so horrible for saying it, but her eyes are like the most powerfully concocted truth serum, and he can't lie to those eyes…

" I _did _choose you." She's whispering now. " I chose to save your life."

" How?"

" One day, you'll understand."

And somehow, he finds himself agreeing to her demands as he pulls her into an embrace and thinks that she smells so sweet, just like she did that night beside the lake. And she's speaking to him, confessing to him like she hasn't since they were both innocent youths with nothing between them but an oh-so-easily-breached empty space.

" I'm scared, Sirius."

" So am I, Lily."

They don't walk away from each other tonight.

* * *

When he awakens that night, somehow, he knows the world has ended.

He's not sure how he knows, or what is driving him to this conclusion, but it's like a part of him has died and the edges of a black hole in his heart are ripping and tearing from the inside, and he can't breathe, can't think, because he's been dreaming horrible dreams and seeing things that aren't real, can't be, but somehow he knows that they are…

And the whole while that he throws on his clothes and runs from his house, he's thinking that he shouldn't have switched, that something's gone wrong and he just wants to see her, to see him, to see Lily and James and little helpless Harry…

And then he's at their home and he's watching the great giant Hagrid pulling a small, white bundle from the flaming ruins, and all he can think is that they're not dead, that some horrible mistake has been made, that he's still dreaming or close to it and he'll wake any second, _wake up, wake up, Sirius Black, wake up…_

And then he's shaking, and the whole world is shaking, because the moment he sees Harry with a bleeding gash on his forehead he knows, knows that he isn't dreaming and that it's really real, and he doesn't hear anything Hagrid says to him, barely realizes that he's offering his own means of transport to the man who wants to take Harry away forever. He only asks to hold Harry once—and then he's staring down into the face of that precious bundle, that one thing that was always a reminder to him of what he'd lost…and those eyes, those vivid green eyes are staring back at him, and he can't even breathe…

And then Harry's gone, and Hagrid is gone, and he's alone. And he's picking his way through the rubble, searching for something he doesn't want to find, but has to find all the same…

And then he sees James, buried beneath the rubble, and he's feeling the numb disbelief starting to fade. Then he's ripping the tattered shreds of that oh-so-familiar drawing-room away from his best mate, and he's kneeling down, and shaking him, and _Please, God, don't let James be dead, he's my best friend, it's my fault, James, wake up…_but he's not speaking, because somehow if he says it, it'll all be real, and some part of him still believes that it can't be, that it isn't anything more than a dream…

And then he's on his feet again, and he staggering through their once-upon-a-time house, and he's searching again with a fever of need that terrifies him. And as he's pawing through the ruins he realizes that he never let go, and that nothing ever changed, and that he's always been her same friend from their school days and that he just needs to see her smiling face again…

And then he's found her, and he knows it's her because she's pinned beneath the remains of the crib, and God knows she would be wherever Harry was, defending him.

And then her body is in his arms and he's holding her to his chest and he's begging, pleading with her as he's rocking back and forth and weeping…

" Lily…"

_This isn't happening…_

" Lily, please…"

_No, no, this isn't real…_

" Lily, come on, open your eyes…"

_This is all my fault…_

" Lily…I'm begging you…"

_Now I understand_.

But she's gone now, she's gone, and it's all his fault, and she's not coming back, and James is gone too, and suddenly his world is dark and lightless and he knows that the meaning of his existence is over.

Five minutes later, he walks away, more alone than he has ever been before.

* * *

It's Christmastime fourteen years later when they take their first walk together, just the two of them.

It's a special moment but somehow less reminiscent because he's a great, shaggy black dog this time, who can't speak and can't communicate and can't say how much this reminds him of a precious and faded time in his past when everything in his world was so incredibly right...

Only this time instead of Lily it's Harry he's walking with, that wonderful boy with his father's hair and his father's laugh and his mother's gleaming eyes, and somehow he feels like it's a placebo, an echo of a path he's walked before, only it's twisting now in ways he can't explain.

And since he's mute, he's not talking much; he's just listening, listening to Harry as he divulges all of his secrets…how he's more or less excelling in Defense Against the Dark Arts but he's failing Potions, and he's so unlike his mother in that respect that for a moment the great black shaggy dog feels a very human emotion: grief.

And then Harry's telling him how he can't stop thinking about his parents, about how he wishes he could remember them, and there's pain in both of them because the memories have faded, and there's just the echo of their cold, dead faces left behind…

And he wishes suddenly that he could say that there was love there, love enough for sacrifice; that she had chosen a path that had torn them apart, but had saved his life, that she cared for him so much, and that when they were together she wasn't a cursed Muggle-born and he wasn't a cursed Pure-Blood, and they were just Lily Evans and Sirius Black, as opposite as night and day but not really so different, just leaving a trail of footprints on history's powered white face…

But he can't say it, because he's afraid he'll never say it right.

And then, when the emotion becomes too much, and he whimpers, Harry's shockingly green eyes are suddenly upon him, and he feels like he's being stripped of all the pretenses, and that, for the first time in so long, he's seeing _her_ again through the eyes of her son who was never quite normal.

And in those moments, it's like he's walking with her again.

* * *

He isn't sure what to feel as he steps—or did he fall?—through that great, shimmering veil, to the Other Side.

But the world here is strangely white, and somehow he knows he's dead. But he's not scared, because where he's standing there are others all around him, shadows gradually gaining form, and death suddenly feels like another life.

And even though he doesn't want to leave Harry behind, and even though he still has things to live for, he steps into death with a confident smile and an easy swagger to his stride. And he passes through what feels like memory and hope and dreaming and sorrow and loss and rebirth and joy and time itself, and then he's stepping out into a bright new world.

And it's snowing.

And so he stops, and he waits, because he knows what's coming like he's been here before, and he just has to wait, oh-so-patiently…

And then he's seeing his best mate for the first time in fourteen years; James is coming toward him through the mist and wind, and he's young and strong and so very un-dead, and he's smiling so widely that his hazel eyes are crinkled when he speaks.

" You took your time."

" There was someone I had to look after for a while."

" Thank you. I know Harry meant the world to you."

And they embrace, and it feels like forgiveness.

And then James is gone, and he's turning back again to face the cold, white world, because he knows what's coming now and his still heart is bursting with anticipation.

And then she's tripping lightly through the snow, to his side, and she's laughing like everything in her world is right again. And she stops to embrace him, and he thinks she smells just as sweet as always, and he pulls away after a moment to kiss the back of her hand, and her green eyes are so full of love that he feels he could die for the happiness welling inside of him…

" It's just like it used to be, isn't it? You and me, in the snow…as friends…"

He is staring at her, remembering, though not of what she speaks; he's remembering the last time he saw her, and he's suddenly sad.

And she seems to be reading his eyes, seeing his mind, because now she's nodding, very slowly.

" Now do you understand?"

He nods.

" I had things I still needed to do. Loose ends to tie up."

She touches the tip of his nose with her finger.

" Thank you for taking care of my son."

" I would have given my life for him."

" You _did_."

" I wish I had done more."

And then she takes his face in her hands, and their eyes meet, and he's wondering why he couldn't have a world with her and James and Harry in it all together, where they could be happy and alive and _whole_.

And then he realizes that that world could never exist, because James is half of Lily and Lily is half of James, and together in a whole they make Harry. And he's just another piece of the puzzle that doesn't have a place.

" You did everything you had to. You gave Harry the strength to see that he'll never, ever be alone. You were for him what James didn't have a chance to be. I owe you more than anyone. How can I repay you?"

She's beseeching, her eyes plaintive, and he suddenly wonders if there's another gap in the puzzle of their family that hasn't been filled. And he realizes that he didn't want to live without her, and somehow he knows that she didn't want this afterlife without him. And he knows that now that they're together, they can be young and immature and _free _again—in a place where she is not a Muggle-born and he is not a Pure-blood and they're just Lily Potter and Sirius Black and secretly friends—for as long as they want…for as long as forever, as long as kindred souls remain entwined.

He holds her hand and gives her fingers a squeeze.

" How about a walk?"

-FIN-

_That was one of the hardest pieces I've ever written, but the pairing of Sirius and Lily has been growing on me for some time. Cross-posted this to my one-shot collection Brevis Fabula. Please, review!_


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